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So drowned had Adica been in her own fears and sorrows that she hadn’t thought once to ask of doings in the village. So much might have happened since she was gone, and yet she had to be careful how she asked, never to mention any person by name who might thereby become vulnerable to the darts of the evil spirits listening around her.
“I hope the Fat One’s favor still smiles on the village.”
“Spring and summer passed swiftly, Hallowed One. There were two raids by the Cursed Ones north of here, at Seven Springs and Four Houses, and some people were killed but the Cursed Ones were driven off. Dorren came from Falling-down to tell us that we must fortify Queens’ Grave. We had work parties from the other villages all summer to build the palisade on the lower embankment, to protect the stone loom. One time just at the autumn equinox a scouting party shot arrows at us, but both palisades were finished by then, so they left when they saw they could do no damage with such small numbers. Still, we’ve sent for war parties from the other White Deer villages, in case they come back. The Fat One has blessed us with three births and no deaths in the moons since you departed. Her favor has been strong over us.”
“May it continue so,” prayed Adica softly. “Forgive me, Weiwara, to speak of fate when the spirits swarm so near to me, but one thing troubles me. Since you are Mother to our people, it falls to me to ask you.”
“I remember our friendship. I will not turn my back on you now.”
Adica sighed, shuddering. “Promise me that you will lay me beside the ancient queens, if you can.”
Adica smelled Weiwara’s tears. “You will be honored among us as if you were one of the queens of the ancient days. I promise you that. No one in this tribe will ever forget you, as long as we have children.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you would ask of me?”
To think of lying down alone on her old pallet made her think of the queens, asleep under the hill, but she knew she had to sleep, to keep up her strength just as she had to eat. So Shu-Sha had told her. Nothing mattered more now than that the great weaving be completed successfully.
“I will sleep. You must look to the village now, and I will prepare for what is coming.”
Amazingly, once Weiwara had left and she lay down undressed on her pallet, covering herself in furs, she dozed off easily. Weariness ruled her. She slept, and she did not dream.
But the morning dawned cold and ruthless, nor had sleep softened her heart. She rose at dawn and did what she could to air out her bedding. She examined the dried herbs hanging from the rafters, weeding out lavender that had gotten eaten away by a fungus, burning a tuft of thistle too withered to be of use.
Already, at dawn, villagers gathered before her house.
“Hallowed One, the birthing house hasn’t been purified properly.”
“Hallowed One, my daughter got sick after drinking cider, but Agda says it was the berries she had, not the cider. There are still five jars left. Maybe evil spirits got in them, or maybe they’re still good.”
“Hallowed One, is it true that Alain didn’t come back with you? My dog got a thorn in his paw and one of the geese has a torn foot—”
It was a relief to be busy. She dressed, broke her fast with porridge and goat’s milk, and went first to the birthing house. After three new births, it desperately needed purifying; she smelled spirits lingering in the eaves, making it dangerous for the next woman who would enter to give birth here. As she examined the outside of the house, testing how the thatch had weathered the summer, looking for birds’ nests, spiderwebs, and other woven places where spirits might roost, she glanced occasionally back at the village.
Manure from the byres was being carted out to the most distant fields in preparation for the winter. Beor and his cousins were slaughtering a dozen swine to feed the war parties, camped up beyond the embankment, and his sister had just brought up a big pot of hot boiled barley to catch blood for a black pudding. Young Deyilo tended a flock of geese out on the stubble of a harvested field.
Getsi appeared with a covered basket. She had grown a hand in height since Adica had last seen her, and the shape of her face had begun to change. In another year she would approach womanhood. But Adica would not be the woman guiding her across that threshold.
“What do you have there?” she asked the girl, more sharply than she intended.
“My mother has been collecting herbs and flowers for you. Where shall I set them?”
“Here, Daughter,” she replied, a little shamefaced pointing to the ground just in front of the door. “Your mother will have my thanks. This thatch needs beating. You’ve had a frost that loosened it.”
“It’s been cold early this year,” agreed Getsi. “I’ll get my sister to come do it. My mother says I’m not strong enough to do it right yet.”
“You’ll soon be.”
Getsi smiled, careful not to look her in the eyes, and loped off back to the village, lithe and eager.
Best to keep busy, and not to think on what she had lost. She completed her circuit of the birthing house before kneeling down before the basket, uncovering it. A rush of scent billowed up, dust dancing as wind caught and worried at dried summer milfoil, placed at the top. Beneath them she found small woven pouches containing flower petals or juniper berries, and beneath these butterwort, betony, and mint leaves, the bundled stalks of tansy and five-leafed silverweed, as well as lavender so fragile that it crumbled at a touch. She laid the contents of one of the pouches on her knees to sort it, sheltering the light petals from the breeze: eglantine and wild rose, made pale by age.
A horn call blared: the alarm from the village, a triple blast to call every person in to the safety of the walls. Shocked, she simply froze, lifting her head to stare as children shrieked and men and women dropped what they were doing and went running.
The horn sounded again, a single blast followed by silence, followed by another short blast. She heard shouts and cries turn from alarm to amazement as people streamed out of the gates, running to meet what a moment ago they had been running from.
Still she did not move.
